


Summer at the Lake

by hellbentalright



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Forced Pregnancy, Groping, Impregnation, Loss of Virginity, Older Man/Younger Woman, Painful Sex, Sexual Grooming, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:43:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellbentalright/pseuds/hellbentalright
Summary: Every year, Lucy and her parents rent a house next to the lake for a lazy, month-long summer vacation.  The property owner, Jim August, has always been kind to the family, inviting them over to the main house to have dinner and watch sports on TV.And recently, Jim's been taking an interest in Lucy in particular.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character, Virginal Teenage Girl/Older Male Neighbor
Comments: 14
Kudos: 371
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2019





	Summer at the Lake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [praxyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/praxyn/gifts).

Summer was Lucy's favorite time of the year. Every July, she and her parents would go down to Cedar Lake and spend the whole month there for a long, laid-back vacation. She and her mom would swim, and her father would barbecue on the patio, and they'd play board games and go on hikes and read books out on the covered porch. It was heaven.

They didn't own the little lake house they stayed at, but ever since Lucy was a little girl, the owner had given them first dibs on renting it. It was owned by Jim August, who, Lucy's parents said, was a bit of a celebrity--he wrote literary books that won lots of awards, even if they weren't best-sellers. He and his wife Mary owned three houses on Cedar Lake, and they lived in one and rented the other two out to vacationing families to make a bit of extra money.

Lucy saw plenty of Jim and Mary August as she was growing up. Their big main house was just across the lake from the lake house, and often Jim and Mary would invite them over for dinner or to watch baseball games on their big screen TV. Once or twice during their month-long visit, Lucy would even go and spend the night at Jim and Mary's house, so her parents could have a night to themselves. She liked when Jim and Mary babysat her; Mary would paint her nails and let her try on makeup, and Jim would let her rock in the backyard hammock with him while they waited for Mary to finish making dinner. Jim was a solidly built man--not too thin, not too muscular--and Lucy liked being pressed up against his side in the hammock more than almost anything in the world. He always smelled like nice cologne, and his neatly trimmed brown beard would often brush against her cheek in a funny, prickly sort of way. Sometimes when she climbed into the hammock, her shirt would hitch up a little, and he would skim his fingertips very lightly over her bare stomach, ticklish but soothing. He asked her questions about school and the books she was reading, and he would always tell her about the latest book he was writing that year. Even though his books sounded kind of boring, she felt important for knowing what they were about before anybody else did.

The summer before Lucy started high school, Jim told her that his newest book was about the life of a young woman, and he thought she might like to read it. "It's not exactly a young adult book," he said. "It still has some adult themes in it. But it's about youth and young love, which I think you'd appreciate. I wondered if maybe you wanted a copy?"

Lucy felt proud that he'd been thinking about her and whether or not she'd like it. The day her family left Cedar Lake, Jim and Mary stopped by to say goodbye, and Jim surreptitiously slipped her a copy. "Maybe read it in private," he said, as she hid it in her bag. "Your parents might think it's a bit too adult for your age."

So Lucy waited until she got home to try reading it. She opened the cover to find the book was autographed: the front page said _For Lucy, from your friend Jim._ It gave her a little thrill, and she thumbed to the beginning and started to read.

It wasn't like any other book she'd read before. It didn't have a normal story: it kept flitting from one scene to another completely out of order, so the main character would be nineteen, then twelve, then sixteen, then six, until Lucy could barely keep track of what was going on anymore. She found herself growing frustrated and bored, and she probably would've given up if she hadn't come across a passage that suddenly caught her attention.

In the scene, the main character was sixteen years old, and she was lying out on the covered porch of her house one afternoon because it was so hot outside. She was so drowsy that she drifted off to sleep, and when she woke up it was nighttime and there was a man lying on top of her, his hand clamped over her mouth. She tried to scream, but with her mouth covered she could only make a pitiful squeak. _"Quiet," _the man said, _"or I'll make you regret it,"_ and he reached down under her skirt and pushed his fingers into her vagina.

Lucy closed the book with a startled snap. She wasn't supposed to read books with sex in them, and even though sometimes at the library she would peek into romance novels and read the lovemaking parts, she had never read anything like _that_ before. Why had Jim written _that_: a man lying on top of a girl, forcing his fingers into her privates while she screamed? It made Lucy feel sick. She picked up the book and shoved it under her bed, her face burning. She knew her parents would be furious if they found out she'd been reading a book like that, and she didn't really like the idea of keeping something so dirty and horrible in her room. But what else could she do with it?

That night, as Lucy was trying to fall asleep, she found herself thinking almost compulsively about that filthy scene again. When she closed her eyes, she could almost picture it happening to her: the man's heavy body lying on top of her, his hand tight over her mouth. She could almost imagine the feeling of his fingers touching her private parts. The thought of it made her heart race, and for some reason her privates were starting to tingle and ache in a way they never had before.

And suddenly she couldn't help it: she _had_ to know what happened next in the story. She pulled the book out from under her bed, and she sat down on the floor next to her nightlight, so the light from her lamp wouldn't draw her parents' attention. She squinted in the dark and started reading again. The man began to move his fingers back and forth in the girl's vagina, '_fucking her cunt with his fingers,' _and the girl moaned behind his hand because even though he was attacking her, it felt so wonderful that she wanted him to keep doing it. The man said, _"You're getting so wet for me, aren't you, you little slut?"_ and moved his fingers harder, and then he _'frigged her clit with his thumb' _until the girl was writhing and moaning with indescribable pleasure. It felt so good to the girl that she forgot to scream when he moved his hand away from her mouth, and he undid his pants and took out his _'long, thick cock' _and started to push it against the entrance to her vagina. Then he clapped his hand over her mouth again, because as soon as he started forcing his penis into her, she started screaming again from the pain, _'her tight, innocent cunt stretched cruelly wide around the man's large cock.'_

Lucy's privates were throbbing between her legs as she read, and almost instinctively she pushed her hand down the front of her pajama pants and started rubbing herself. And it felt so good that _she_ almost moaned, like the girl in the book. For the next ten minutes Lucy sat there hunched over her nightlight, reading and rubbing herself fiercely as the man violated the crying, desperate girl. When she got to the end of the scene, and the man had shot his sperm deep into the girl's body, Lucy pushed a finger into her own vagina and felt her insides clamp wet and hard around it, a feeling so amazing that it made her entire body rock and shake.

Then, just like that, it didn't feel good anymore. Lucy shut the book, hid it away again, and crawled back into bed feeling exhausted and strange. Her stomach started to feel a little sick again. Why had Jim written about such a horrible thing?

And why had reading it made her feel so horrible and so _good_ at the same time?

\--------------

The next summer, Lucy was a little shyer around Jim and Mary. Both of them acted like their normal selves, and Jim was perfectly nice and friendly, watching baseball games with her parents and asking Lucy about school, like usual. He didn't ask her if she'd read his book, and she didn't know what she'd say if he _did_ ask. She had tried to finish it, but mostly she had just kept re-reading that one scene on the porch, and another scene she found later on where the main character's boyfriend licked her between her legs. She knew she couldn't talk to Jim about _those _parts.

Then the day came that her parents sent her over to Jim and Mary's house to spend the night. Lucy was so worried about Jim asking her about his book that she almost asked to stay home instead, but her parents had been a little testy with each other over the last few days, and Lucy thought a night alone would probably do them some good. She nervously packed an overnight bag and went.

"I can't believe how old you're getting," Mary said, as the two of them painted their nails and watched soap operas, like they did every year. "I remember when you used to practice putting on my makeup, and now you wear it better than I do. How did you like your first year of high school?"

"It was okay," Lucy said. In truth, she'd found her first year kind of lonely: her parents were strict about the kind of kids she could hang out with. They didn't want her to get mixed up with a bad crowd.

Mary sighed. "Time moves so quickly," she said. She started blowing on her nails. "Hopefully these dry fast, because I need to run down to the store to get the ingredients for dinner. Jim's upstairs writing, but you can call up to him if you need anything."

Lucy felt a prickle of nervousness as Mary gathered her things to leave. Cedar Lake was pretty far from the nearest grocery stores; Mary would be gone for an hour, maybe more. But if Jim was writing, maybe he would be so engrossed that he wouldn't come down until Mary got back and dinner was waiting for him.

For half an hour after Mary left, Lucy kept watching soap operas, blowing lightly on her nails, but then she heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase. Jim came downstairs, and when he saw her sitting there by herself, he looked surprised. "Did Mary go to the store?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And she left you here to fend for yourself?" he said. "How inhospitable! You should've come gotten me."

"She said you were writing," Lucy said.

"Ah, I was trying to," Jim said. "I'm not having much success at the moment. I was going to go outside for a little bit and see if the fresh air offers any inspiration. Why don't you join me?"

Lucy hesitated. "I don't want to distract you."

"Nonsense!" Jim said. "A good conversation can be a great source of inspiration. Come on."

So the two of them went out into the backyard together. Jim headed toward the big hammock right away, and even though the two of them had rocked together in it every summer as far back as she could remember, Lucy felt uneasy as she watched him climb in and move over to make room for her. It reminded her so much of that scene in his book: the man's body pressed up against the girl, his weight heavy against her as his hand began to move between her legs. But Jim looked at Lucy so expectantly that she felt like she had no choice but to climb into the hammock next to him.

Now that she was older, it was a bit of a tighter fit, and Jim had to lift one of his arms and put it around her so she wouldn't fall off the side. In a moment she found herself cradled against his tall, solid body, smelling his nice cologne, his neatly trimmed beard brushing against her cheek. And even though it felt nice, Lucy couldn't relax, her whole body tense where it pressed against him.

"Are you all right?" Jim asked. "Are you afraid you're going to fall off?"

"N-no," Lucy said.

He pulled her in a little closer anyway. Then he lifted his free hand, and she realized belatedly that her shirt had hitched up a little, like it sometimes did, exposing a strip of her stomach. His fingertips gently skimmed over the bare skin there, ticklish and soothing, and Lucy felt an unexpected throb between her legs.

"I've always liked our talks in the hammock," Jim said, as they rocked lightly back and forth. "You're such a good sounding board for my ideas. I can always tell when the plots I'm working on bore you or interest you. Did you know, Mary always tells me my plots are good, even if she doesn't like them? She thinks it's important to be supportive. But I'd much rather hear the truth, especially if it's coming from a young person like you. Young people feel the effects of fiction the most strongly."

His calm, conversational tone and the gentle brush of his fingers on Lucy's stomach were starting to help her relax a little. "Tell me," Jim said after a moment. "Did you ever read the book I gave you last year?"

Instantly Lucy tensed again. "I--I tried," she said. "It was kind of confusing, the way it jumped around in time."

"Ah, yes," Jim said. "The nonlinear timeline annoyed a few critics. But what about Charlotte, the main character? Did she feel real to you--her emotions, her pain, her struggles?"

When he said _her pain_, Lucy couldn't help but think of the porch scene, and she felt another throb between her legs. "Yes," Lucy said. "I felt so bad for her, sometimes. It almost made my stomach hurt when--when bad things happened to her."

"That's what I hoped," Jim said. "To make it so visceral that you'd feel what she felt, right alongside her."

The fingertips drifting against her stomach slowly flattened, and Jim's large hand came to rest on Lucy's bare stomach. It was warm and heavy. "I know some of the scenes were graphic," Jim said. "Like the scene where the transient attacks her on her porch. That's why I thought it might be better if your parents didn't know you were reading it."

The throbbing between Lucy's legs was getting harder and faster. Jim's hand was resting on her stomach, his fingers right over the waistband of her pants, and she couldn't help but imagine what it would be like if he reached down, his hand sliding under her clothes to touch her aching privates. "But of course, I knew you were grown-up enough to handle that kind of material," Jim said. "Be honest with me, Lucy. How did that scene make you feel?"

She couldn't believe he was actually asking her about that scene in particular. And she definitely couldn't tell him how it _actually _made her feel--the way she'd sneak the book out from under her bed at night, reading it with a flashlight while she rubbed desperately between her legs. "It made me feel...sad," Lucy said. "Sad and horrible."

"Hmm," Jim said. "Those are just emotions, though. I want to know how it made you _feel_. In your body."

His hand on her stomach pressed down a little. Lucy started to panic, trying to think of something to say that wasn't the embarrassing truth. "I felt...sick," Lucy said. "Like I was going to throw up."

"Understandable," Jim said. "But what else did you feel?"

Lucy felt her face start to heat up. It was almost like he knew the feeling she was trying to keep hidden from him. "It's...embarrassing," she said at last.

"Oh, Lucy," Jim said, his voice warm. "There's really no need to be embarrassed. I wrote that scene on purpose, to make the reader feel a specific way. I wrote it to arouse. Is that what you felt? Arousal?"

Lucy hesitated. That _was_ how it made her feel, but it seemed very wrong to actually talk about it with him.

"Do you know what I mean by arousal?" Jim asked, when she didn't say anything. "You're young, maybe you don't quite grasp the meaning of the word." He lifted the hand on her stomach a little and slid it down. Her breath caught in her throat: his hand was moving _between her legs_, softly cupping her privates through the fabric of her pants. "I mean, did you feel it here?"

And his hand squeezed, gently. Lucy inhaled sharply as her entire body started to tingle, goosebumps rising on her skin, her nipples hardening. The throb in her vagina was so fast that it seemed to match her heartbeat. "Y--yes," she said, almost whispering. "I felt it there."

"Good," Jim said. "Describe the feeling for me."

His hand squeezed again, and it felt wrong, and scary, and _good_, so good her breath hitched in her throat. "It felt...good," Lucy said, almost inaudible. "But it hurt, too. Like...like an ache."

"Good," Jim said. "That's arousal. It's what I wanted you to feel when I wrote it."

The way he said it almost made it sound like he'd been thinking of Lucy when he wrote it. But that couldn't be true. "And what did you do, when you felt that way?" Jim asked. "Did you touch yourself?"

The thought of telling him the truth, that she'd read his book in bed with her hand working furiously between her legs, sent a hot wave of shame rolling through her. "No," she said quickly.

"No?" Jim said, sounding surprised. "It's all right if you did."

Lucy gave her head a quick, wordless shake. "Oh, Lucy," Jim said. "I know your parents are a bit puritanical, but there's really nothing wrong with masturbation. It's a perfectly normal thing to do. Doesn't it feel nice, the way I'm touching you?"

And he started squeezing his hand rhythmically, gently massaging her privates. And it _did_ feel good, his big hand cupped over that sensitive area, the foreignness of his touch making everything feel so much more intense. She let out a shuddery breath. "Yes," she said. "It feels good."

"And it can feel even better than this," Jim said. "It's very sad, Lucy, that you've gotten to be this old without ever experiencing the pleasure of orgasm. You don't know what you've been missing."

And even though she secretly _did_ know, part of her was beginning to realize that having someone else touch her felt very different from touching herself. She found herself pressing her privates up against his squeezing hand without meaning to, instinctively rocking her hips in search of deeper stimulation. "Lucy," Jim said quietly. "Did you want me to show you how to masturbate? A girl your age should know how to make herself feel good."

Lucy quailed inside. She knew that sex and masturbation were wrong--her parents and the people at her church always said so--but she was starting to feel the same rising desperation that had so often made her pull Jim's book out from under her bed during the last year. And she knew, too, that Jim touching her like this was probably wrong, but it felt so good that she couldn't bring herself to care. She wanted him to keep going.

"Okay," she whispered. "You can show me."

Jim shifted against her in the hammock. "All right," he said easily, and with surprising strength he rearranged the way she was lying against him, drawing her up so his hand could more comfortably reach between her legs. "It's very simple. You put your hand down here."

His broad, warm hand slid underneath the waistband of her pants. Lucy tensed at the shocking unfamiliarity of it--the firm press of an adult hand against her bare mound. Jim paused for a second. "Relax," he said. "There's nothing to worry about it. I promise you'll enjoy it."

Lucy breathed, trying to slow her fluttering heartbeat. Slowly, Jim pushed his hand down further, until she felt his warm fingers slide along the wet groove of her privates. And the throb inside her went _frantic_ when he touched there, a feeling so overwhelming that she bucked her hips up against his hand, gasping. One of his thick fingers separated from the rest and sank inside her, gliding in smoothly on her wetness, and Jim said "Good God," his voice low but distinct in her ear. "I didn't realize you were already this excited, Lucy. That little cunt of yours just sucked me right in."

After reading Jim's book, Lucy knew that _cunt_ was a filthy way of saying _vagina_, and for some reason hearing him say it out loud shocked her. Jim never cursed or used bad words in real life. For the very first time, the Jim of real life seemed to mingle a bit with the Jim who wrote the porch scene, and for a split-second Lucy felt afraid. She was all alone with him: her parents were across the lake, and Mary wouldn't be back for another half hour. Could the Jim of real life be mean, like the one who wrote the book?

Then his hand shifted position between her legs, and she felt his thumb brush against her clit. And it felt _so good,_ so much more intense than her own touch, that her fear receded into the back of her mind. She cried out, her voice loud in the quiet, her hips bucking and eyes squeezing shut. "That's it," Jim said, his voice still low in her ear. "You just have to rub your clit, like that."

His hand began to move dexterously between her legs, his thumb rubbing, his thick finger pushing in and out of her with a quick rhythm. His big finger felt so much better inside her than her own small one had: it stretched her wider, and thrust in deeper, and moved with increased force when she clamped down around it. The hammock started to rock faster beneath them as Jim's hand started moving vigorously, and Lucy tipped her head back with a gasp as she felt her body vault closer and closer to that wonderful feeling.

"Such a responsive girl," Jim said. "Give me your hand."

She lifted one distractedly, and he closed his palm over it and then guided it to her chest. He showed her how to squeeze one of her own small breasts, to pinch and thumb at the nipple through her shirt, until it added a new pulse of pleasure to the growing swell between her legs. Then he moved his hand off hers and said "Keep squeezing," and as she kneaded one of her breasts, his big hand closed over the other one, massaging it steadily, his thumbnail scraping occasionally against her tender, stiffening nipple.

And faster than she thought possible, she found herself right there at the edge of that feeling, sweet and wonderful and scary. In the quiet of the backyard she could hear the creak of the hammock as they rocked, and the wet sound of Jim's finger plunging in and out of her vagina, and the little whining hitch of her breath as she teetered there on the precipice.

Jim said into her ear, low: "Come for me, you little slut."

And she did: she crashed over into the hardest orgasm she'd ever experienced, her vagina clamped tight around his forceful finger, both of her breasts being squeezed by separate hands. His brown beard scratched against her cheek as she shook and trembled her way through it, and then she felt something wet against the side of her face: his lips and tongue, sucking against her skin in a kiss.

Then the good feeling started to fade. His finger inside of her slowed in its thrusting and eventually stopped, embedded deep and motionless in her throbbing vagina. His squeezing hand on her breast eased up, until he was only drawing his thumb gently across her nipple, back and forth. A deep lethargy seemed to swallow Lucy up, and she closed her eyes and curled up against his warm bulk, her panting breaths slowing as the muscles in her body went lax.

Jim said, kindly, "That was nice, wasn't it?"

Somewhere in her sleepy mind, she registered the change in his tone: he had called her a _slut_ right when she came, so meanly, but now his voice was gentle again. "It's okay if you fall asleep for a little while," Jim said. "We can just rock here until Mary gets home."

Lucy nodded. She felt herself half-drifting off already, lulled by the swaying of the hammock. They rocked there in the quiet backyard for a long time, and at one point Lucy must've dozed off, because when she came to consciousness later, Jim had pulled his finger out of her. Lucy frowned sleepily, her empty vagina clenching around nothing.

But then she saw through half-lidded eyes that one of Jim's hands was moving near her hip. She blinked to make her vision resolve: he had undone the zipper of his pants and drawn his penis out, and he was pumping it with his hand. She realized, too, that his other hand was still on her breast, kneading the soft flesh methodically between his fingers.

A shiver went down Lucy's spine: a feeling that was half alarm, half arousal. She remembered the scene in Jim's book, the way the man had taken his penis out and forced it into Charlotte's vagina. Jim wouldn't do that to her, would he? Even if he had called her vagina a _cunt_, and called her a _little slut_, he wouldn't draw down the waistband of her pants and push his cock up into her while she slept, would he?

Lucy didn't move or say anything. She watched through half-lidded eyes as Jim's hand pumped and pumped, as dull pleasure coursed through her body as he squeezed her breast. After a few minutes she heard Jim's breath quicken, and his hand released her breast and moved down, pulling up her shirt to expose her stomach.

White wetness suddenly erupted from the tip of his penis. Jim made a low grunting sound and pumped his hand furiously as the wetness splashed onto Lucy's bare stomach, five or six pulsing spurts of it. It felt slimy and warm against her skin, like someone was spitting on her, and she wrinkled her nose with dislike. But even though it was gross, she felt a sense of relief that he hadn't tried to put his penis inside of her.

Jim's heavy breathing started to slow, and he gave his penis a few more tugs before tucking it back in his pants. Then he touched her stomach, his warm hand massaging the wet, slippery skin there. And even though _that_ was kind of gross, too, it also felt nice, and after a quiet minute of gentle stimulation she found herself drifting off back to sleep again.

When she awoke, the sun in the sky had set, and the light outside was beginning to grow dimmer. She realized Jim had his hand down her pants again: one of his thick fingers was in her vagina, and the pad of his fingertip was rubbing up and down against her inner walls. Lucy shifted, making a sleepy, questioning noise, and Jim's finger paused in its motion for a second and then withdrew from her. "You awake, Lucy?" he asked, rubbing the bristles of his beard against her cheek.

"Mmm."

"Why don't we go back inside? It's getting a little chilly out here."

So the two of them unfolded themselves from the hammock, stretching their slightly stiff muscles, and Jim put his hand on Lucy's shoulder and guided her back to the house. "That was nice, wasn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Lucy said. It _had_ been nice, except for a few brief, confusing moments.

"Now, I know your parents have some pretty strict rules about boys and sex and masturbation," Jim said. "So if you do touch yourself the way I showed you, you should do it privately, and quietly."

"I know."

"And it goes without saying that we'll keep this lesson private, too," Jim said. "From your parents, and from Mary, too. I don't know if she'd approve of me going over your parents' heads like this. Okay?"

"Okay," Lucy said.

He gave her shoulder a warm squeeze. "Now, I think I'm going to try doing some more writing," he said. "That fresh air did me a world of good. Will you be okay down here by yourself?"

"Yes," Lucy said. "I'll be fine."

She waited until she heard his footsteps going upstairs, and then she went into the bathroom and closed the door. She looked at herself in the mirror. It felt like she ought to look different, somehow--changed by Jim's touch--but she looked the same as ever.

She lifted up the hem of her shirt and touched the skin of her stomach. Surprisingly, it wasn't wet anymore, or even particularly sticky. She remembered the thick, slippery ropes of wetness he had painted her stomach with, but there wasn't any real trace of them left. Maybe he had cleaned her up, somehow, while she was sleeping. She soaked a handful of toilet paper under the tap and scrubbed away the faint, lingering stickiness.

When Mary came home a little while later, she chatted with Lucy and whistled a cheery melody as she made dinner. Later, when Jim came down to eat, he seemed cheerful, too. "How's the writing going?" Mary asked, as she ladled soup into his bowl.

"Excellent!" he said. He gave Lucy a wink. "I've felt very inspired this evening. In fact, I'm going to be a very impolite host and take my food back upstairs with me, if that's all right. I think I can make it to the end of this chapter if I stay focused."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mary said, and put all his food on a tray to bring upstairs. Lucy watched Jim disappear up the staircase again and felt a little nervous and a little relieved to see him go.

Jim didn't come down again that evening, and when Lucy woke up in the guest bedroom the next morning, Mary told her he had been up until 4 in the morning, writing furiously. "He's zonked out now," she said as she cooked breakfast. "He asked me to apologize to you again for being such poor company."

"No, it's okay," Lucy said. She had a faint, dreamy hope that _she_ was the reason his inspiration had returned to him, after his struggles with writer's block yesterday.

A few minutes before her parents arrived to pick her up again, Lucy re-packed her overnight bag and discovered something flat and rectangular tucked into the side pocket. It was a paperback copy of one of Jim's books. Lucy flipped open the cover and saw, written on the title page: _For Lucy, my summertime muse, from your friend Jim._

A thrill ran down Lucy's spine. She really _had_ inspired him. Below the dedication, in smaller letters, Jim had written: _If you ever need the kind of help your parents aren't capable of giving, don't hesitate to call me. _Below that, he'd written his phone number.

Lucy left Jim and Mary's house that day feeling decidedly different than she'd felt when she first arrived. More adult--more mature--and a little less lonely. It had been hard, this last year, not having anyone else in her corner, but now she had a friend who existed outside of the rigid structure of her parents' rules.

She might not have any close friends at school, but at least now she had Jim.

\----------------

Two months later, on the first day of her sophomore year of high school, Lucy felt a surge of nausea in the middle of math class, and she had to get up abruptly and run to the girls' bathroom. It was intensely embarrassing; the whole class snickered when she came back and had to explain herself to the teacher. "Back-to-school jitters?" the teacher said, with a touch of sympathy in her voice. "It happens. Take a seat."

But the next day it happened again: she had eaten two slices of cafeteria pizza at lunch, and it sat heavily in her stomach for an hour before she had to get up from her desk in history and run to be sick again. This time she didn't go back to class, but went to the nurse's office instead. They called her mom to pick her up. "Let's swing by the doctor's office," her mom said. "It's probably a stomach virus, or the flu."

But it wasn't.

\-----------------

That night in Lucy's house there was screaming, and yelling, and praying. Her mother cried, looking at Lucy with an expression Lucy had never seen before: disgust and betrayal. "I gave up fifteen years of my life to raise you right," she said, "and _this_ is how you repay me?"

"Who did you sleep with?" her father demanded.

"No one," Lucy sobbed, because she _hadn't. _The only person who had ever touched her before was Jim, and he had only used his fingers.

They sent her to her room, and she pressed her ear to the door and listened to them shout and yell at each other, full of blame and fury. She listened to them discuss what to do with her: she certainly couldn't stay _here, _her father said, parading her growing belly around town in full view of everyone in their church. And none of their relatives would want to take her in either, because they'd be just as disgusted by her depravity.

For an hour, Lucy sat on the floor of her bedroom and cried, full of crushing, bone-deep fear. The routine of her life--the love of her parents--her own _body_\--all of it had been hijacked, sent careening off its normal path. And she had no one to turn to, no family, no friends, except--

Lucy crawled across the floor and reached under her bed. From its hiding place, she withdrew the paperback book Jim had given her and flipped it open to the title page.

_If you ever need the kind of help your parents aren't capable of giving, don't hesitate to call me. _

Lucy found her phone and tapped in Jim's number with shaking fingers.

\---------------------

Cedar Lake was five hours away from Lucy's house. That night, as her parents slept in cold, furious silence, Lucy packed as many of her belongings as she could into two bags and left a note on her bedroom desk. At 3 AM, moving as quietly as she could, she went outside with her bags and found Jim parked just down the road in his gray sedan.

She started crying as soon as she was seated in the passenger seat, and Jim leaned over and hugged her, smelling of his nice cologne, his solidly built body a warm and comforting weight against her. "It's okay," he said, his voice low but kind. "You're okay. You're going to be fine."

"I didn't have sex," Lucy said, almost pleaded, though she knew how impossible it sounded. "I swear I didn't. The only person who's ever touched me is you. I don't know how I--"

"Don't worry about that now," Jim said. "Let's just get you somewhere safe and comfortable. We'll figure it out, Lucy, I promise."

Lucy slept for most of the five-hour drive back to Cedar Lake. When the car came to a stop, she opened her eyes and realized they weren't at either the big main house or the little lake house where her family usually stayed. "Where are we?" she mumbled.

"This is our third property," Jim said. "We have renters at the lake house right now, but this place is empty."

The third property was a little bigger than the lake house, but it had been built further back into the forest rather than right off the shore. She couldn't even see Cedar Lake from here. Jim picked up her bags and showed her inside. "Let me put sheets on the bed," he said, and she sat on the couch and watched as he started getting the house ready for her.

Then, on instinct, she reached for her cell phone and found it gone from her pocket. She searched through her bags, but it wasn't in there, either. "Have you seen my phone?" she asked Jim as he walked by with an armful of linens.

"I turned it off and put it in the glovebox of my car," he said. "I know your parents are angry. I don't want them to be able to trace you here and upset you any further."

She nodded. When Jim had finished making up the bed in the master bedroom, he brought her bags into it and guided her inside. His hands on her were gentle, like she was delicate. She sat down on one side of the bed, and he sat down on the other side, smiling a sad smile. "You poor dear," he said, reaching out to touch her cheek.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against his broad, warm palm. "I don't know how it happened," she said. An errant tear slipped from her eye and rolled down her cheek. "Could it...could it be yours?"

"I don't see how," Jim said softly. "I only touched you with my hand."

"You didn't..." She swallowed. "When I was asleep, you didn't...put your penis inside me?"

Jim's eyes widened. "Lucy, I would _never,"_ he said, sounding taken aback. "Not without your permission, at least. I know the risk of that just as well as you do. I wrote about it in my book, remember? When the transient raped Charlotte, she fell pregnant. That's the risk of unprotected sex."

When he said the word _rape_, Lucy's blood ran cold. "Could someone have raped me?" she whispered. "And I don't remember?"

Jim's face contorted into an expression both sympathetic and sad. "I suppose it's a possibility," he said quietly.

Lucy's tears spilled over again. "Lucy," he said warmly, and reached over and gathered her into his arms. She cried against his chest for several minutes, exhausted and afraid. "Was there ever a time these last few weeks when you noticed...pain, down there?" he asked.

"I don't think so."

"When we were in the hammock together," he said, "and I touched you, it was very clear to me that you were a virgin. I wouldn't have been able to fit two fingers in you without breaking your hymen. If you _were _raped, your hymen would've torn in the process."

Lucy wasn't exactly sure where her hymen was; it was the kind of thing her parents would never talk about in any detail. "How would I know if it was torn?" she asked.

"I could check it for you, if you like."

Her spirits lifted with sudden hope; maybe this would be the answer to the mystery. So Jim had her lie down on the bed, and with careful hands he pulled off Lucy's pants and underwear, leaving her lower half bare. And even though Lucy's heart was racing with fear, she felt that familiar throb of arousal in her vagina as he spread her legs and knelt down between them, looking closely at her entrance.

She watched the expression on his face. He bit his lip, looking perplexed. "No," he said, and gently pressed his finger into her. Her internal muscles clenched reflexively around it. "Your hymen is still intact. See? My finger just barely fits inside you."

Unexpectedly, a fresh spill of tears ran down Lucy's cheeks. Not that she _wanted _to have been raped--but it left her no closer to answers than before. "Lucy," Jim murmured, withdrawing his finger, and with his free hand he reached out and caressed the side of her face. "It's all right."

"How is it all right?" Lucy wept.

"It's amazing," Jim said. "A virgin birth--how else can you explain it, other than to say it's a miracle?"

There was a soft expression on his face. And for some reason, the sight of it made her bewildered spirits lift a little. _A miracle_. He was right, wasn't he? How else could it have happened? She had never had sex. Her hymen was intact. She was pure.

Jim leaned down over her and pressed a kiss against her cheek. His bristly brown beard scraped against the side her face. "I'll take care of you," he said. "You can stay here, in this house, and I'll make sure you have everything you need. I'll make sure you and the baby are safe. I promise you, Lucy. Your parents might not understand what happened, but I do."

Lucy nodded. Jim kissed her cheek again, and then, unexpectedly, he pressed his lips full against hers. And even though she wasn't expecting it, the intimacy of it flooded her with relieved warmth. It was her very first kiss, and it felt weighty, like the sealing of a pact. Jim was her friend. Jim would take care of her.

Her, and the miracle of life inside her.

\---------------

From that day forward, Lucy's life was permanently changed. No more school--no more parents--just the secluded little house in the forest behind Cedar Lake. Jim stocked it with food, and books, and brought the television from the living room into the bedroom, so she could watch it in bed. It was a little lonely, but hadn't she been just as lonely before, in her old life? Even if she missed her parents fiercely sometimes, she knew they would never be happy to see her again.

Not like Jim. Jim was always happy to see her. He came and visited her every day, and made sure she was eating well and felt all right. Sometimes they would lie on the bed together and watch television, Lucy cuddled in his arms, safe and secure. Sometimes they would kiss, slow and sweet, as Jim rubbed Lucy's small swell of a belly. The pregnancy books Jim brought her said that it was important to avoid stress as much as possible, so Jim did things to help her relax. He gave her full-body massages with oil, working the tension out of her muscles, gently kneading her swollen, tender breasts. He laid her down on the bed and worked a single finger inside her and licked her clit, a feeling so heavenly that Lucy could come multiple times from it, writhing underneath his ministrations.

He also scheduled her first doctor's appointment for her, a few weeks out. "There's just one problem," he told her. "They're not going to be able to examine you properly with your hymen still intact. We should think about breaking it now, to give it time to heal before your appointment."

"How do I break it?" Lucy asked, feeling a little queasy at the thought.

"Typically it breaks the first time you have sex," Jim said. "I could do it for you, if that's something you're comfortable with."

And even though she had grown comfortable with Jim seeing her naked body and using his hands and mouth on her, the thought of him actually putting his cock inside her was a little frightening. "Will it hurt?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, it probably will," Jim said. "Think of it like pulling a baby tooth. It hurts, but it has to be done. I'll try to make it as nice for you as possible."

So one evening, Jim undressed her and laid her out on the bed and spent some time fondling and kissing her, trying to make her feel good. Her once-small breasts had gained a cup size over the last few weeks, and he kneaded them, lowering his head to suck at her stiff, aching nipples. He licked and fingered her vagina, keying her up, until she was so close to the edge of orgasm that she was desperate for _anything_ to push her over the edge.

Then he stopped and pushed down his pants, and for the first time since summer she saw his penis again. She had only seen it the first time in a sleepy haze, and it had been mostly concealed by his pumping fist. Now, as he stroked it to hardness and aimed it between her legs, she realized for the first time how _big _it was, compared to the narrowness of his finger. She made an uncertain sound, drawing her thighs closed. "I don't think it'll fit," she said nervously.

"I know it looks big," Jim said. "But your cunt can take it. The hymen only makes the entrance smaller. Once I break it, your cunt will stretch to fit me."

She still didn't like when he called her vagina a _cunt_; it made her feel low and dirty. But he was already spreading her thighs open again with firm hands, his solid body lowering to lie on top of her. She startled as she wrapped her arms around his back: he was so _heavy_. Her swollen, tender breasts were crushed painfully against his chest, and when she tried to shift a little to relieve the pressure, she found it impossible to move. His weight was pressing her deep into the mattress.

She felt something warm and hard nudge against the entrance of her vagina. A spike of fear shot through her. "Here we go," Jim said, and she felt the heavy musculature of his lower body shove forward.

Lucy screamed. A sharp, tearing pain set her lower half on fire; inside her body her vagina felt like it was splitting open around the long, thick intrusion. _"Stop!"_ she squealed, tears springing to her eyes. "Take it out!"

"I know it hurts," Jim said, "but now that I'm in, you need to see it through. Try to relax."

And his heavy lower body pulled back and then shoved forward again, so hard that their bodies lurched upward on the bed together, Lucy's aching breasts flattened tight against Jim's chest. She choked on the second searing flare of pain, worse than the first one, her already-torn hymen splitting open wider. _"Stop_," she repeated, letting go of him and trying push on his shoulders, but it was like pushing against stone. Jim's lower body gave another shoving thrust, and another, stabs of pain as bright as blood, and Lucy pushed her hands against his chest one last time before her arms fell limply back onto the bed.

"There we go," Jim said, and there was a sound in his voice she didn't like, a rough sort of triumph. "You're okay, Lucy. You're a woman now. This is how it feels."

And he kept shoving his cock into her, each inward thrust a bright sear of pain, each outward drag a low awful ache. She had been close to coming before, but the pleasure was lost beneath the violence of each thrust, her breath half-choked from her lungs by his crushing weight. "See?" Jim panted. "I'm all the way in, no problem. That slutty little cunt of yours was made for me."

Lucy let out a high, childish sob. It was happening again: that horrible blend of the kind Jim and the mean one, the one who wrote such terrible things in his books. How could he be so sweet to her sometimes, and then so terrible, calling her filthy names, not caring at all that he was hurting her? "Jim, _please_," she wept, pushing against his shoulders again. "I don't want to do this. I want to go _home!"_

"You _are_ home," Jim said, as his cock split her open again, and again, and again. "Where else would you go? Your parents don't want you. They think your baby's a bastard. They'd throw you out on the street as soon as you went back."

Lucy's arms fell limply back onto the bed again. She shut her eyes, her choking sobs edged with the pain of each thrust into her broken body. "I told you I'd take care of you, Lucy," Jim said, and his beard scraped her face as he sucked a kiss onto her tear-stained cheek. "And I will. No one else wants you, but I'll make a place for you here. My sweet little muse."

His voice and breath were turning ragged. His cock jackhammered into her young body, as the pain in her vagina slowly turned to a frightening numbness. "Okay," he said after another minute, sucking bruising kisses onto Lucy's neck. "Are you ready? I'm going to give that thirsty cunt of yours what it wants."

And after a few more powerful thrusts he bottomed out inside her and held himself there, groaning loudly, his entire weight smashing her into the mattress. She struggled fruitlessly underneath him for what felt like forever, until with a panting sigh he lifted himself up on his arms and slid his cock out of her.

She inhaled deeply for the first time since he'd broken her hymen, her breasts heaving on her chest. Jim glanced down between her legs and gave a brief nod. "Good and broken," he said. "I'm sorry it hurt so much. Let's get you cleaned up."

She shrank away from him, but he just got up off the bed and picked her bodily up, carrying her into the bathroom. He set her down in the shower and started the water running, unhooking the detachable showerhead from its cradle. She stood there, tear-streaked, naked, and numb, as Jim tested the temperature of the water.

Lucy looked down. Her inner thighs were a sticky mess of crimson and white. Now that Jim's cock was no longer pounding her into numbness, she could feel the faint, wet trickle of his spend as it slowly leaked from her vagina. 

No, not from her vagina. From her torn, sloppy, ruined _cunt_.

"Okay," Jim said. "This'll sting a little." His voice sounded kind again.

He pointed the shower spray between her legs, and Lucy squeezed her eyes shut as the floor of the shower swirled with the bright red of her lost innocence.


End file.
